


Tinker (Tailor)

by SilverBird13



Series: Rule 63-Verse Series [6]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: Clothing Porn, D/s undertones, F/F, Femslash, Madeleine Era, Masturbation (?), Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 15:56:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverBird13/pseuds/SilverBird13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Javert would reach over the desk and trace the edges of those four blooms, letting her thumb play at the Mayor’s barely-exposed collarbone.  The cotton would be soft under Javert’s fingertips, not slippery like the foolish silks favored by most women, but Madame Madeleine’s skin would be softer still."<br/>Or, Javert keeps a very close eye on that suspicious mayor's wardrobe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tinker (Tailor)

**Author's Note:**

> When the title comes from Sappho's poems, you know what you're in for. This is porn, possibly a prequel to "Beggarman (Thief)" if you want it to be.

_Flowers_ , Javert groans internally, _four cloth flowers fastened to a bodice will send me to the madhouse, or to Hell at the very least._  
  
 _Madame la Maire is a woman of almost prudish sensibilities.  Her dress, a touch stiff and antiquated, could never be the cause of scandalized whispers, but nor would it ever invoke true jealousy in the women of Montreuil-sur-Mer.  Like the woman herself, it is simple, gracious, and almost holy in it’s lack of pretension._  
  
“Do you then recommend we close the dock, Inspector?”  The woman ( _Madame la Maire, Madame la Maire_ ) says. “If the wood is truly so rotten, it cannot be safe.”  She places her hand on the damning ornament and tugs it as though it has misbehaved.  
  
 _Of course, Madame Madeleine, a wealthy woman, has a reasonable collection of fine (if plain) gowns.  Javert knows them by heart: the blue striped damask with the ribbons on the sleeves, the hunter green one never worn without a matching jacket, the navy day dress with the folded neckline, the black crepe worn most often with a rather old herringbone shawl to church, the lilac cotton with the ruffled neckline and white buttons, the chocolate floral-print with the wide sleeves, and the plum damask always neatly offset with a white fichu._    
  
“Madame, it is not for me to tell you what action to take, merely to give you the report,”  Javert chokes out, perhaps more tersely than intended.  
  
 _The berry-colored cotton currently being worn by Madame la Maire is a new development in her wardrobe, notable for being lower-cut than the other gowns, though nowhere near indecent.  It made it’s first appearance in the bakery several weeks ago, but after the weather took an unseasonable turn for the worse, it had remained dormant, thankfully absent from Javert’s vision if not her thoughts._  
  
“But I trust you, Javert.  Please, tell me what course of action you suggest.”     
  
 _Javert would reach over the desk and trace the edges of those four blooms, letting her thumb play at the Mayor’s barely-exposed collarbone.  The cotton would be soft under Javert’s fingertips, not slippery like the foolish silks favored by most women, but Madame Madeleine’s skin would be softer still._  
   
The inspector closes her eyes, fighting her mind and body to grapple for a reply.  “Yes, Madame la Maire, I must concede that it would be a wise choice to close the dock if you wish to be cautious.”  
  
 _Javert’s other hand would begin to move from the soft skin towards the buttons down the front, tracing the high, slight curve of the Mayor’s chest, eliciting a sigh that was like that of that of one coming home after years away._  
  
Madame la Maire smiles in that peculiar way of hers that is neither warm nor false, but almost melancholy.  “I would never wish to be anything but, Inspector.”  
  
 _She is now unbuttoned, unlaced, unhooked from that outdated cage she wears around her hips.  Madame la Maire is as bare as the day she was born, and Javert cannot help but flick her tongue over a firm nipple, drag her fingers lightly up and down the woman’s torso, knead the curving bottoms of those neat breasts as she begins her decent downwards..._  
  
Javert smiles forcibly, and looks almost guilty.  “I am glad, Madame la Maire.  A cautious woman is a wise one indeed.”  
  
 _The Mayor’s cunt is as desirable as the rest of her, and Javert is all too happy to kneel in supplication beneath it.  She smiles as the first tentative lick draws a breathy moan from the woman above her, and is eager to follow the orders being given as a gentle hand stokes her hair._  
  
“Javert, your patrol ends with your report to me on Thursdays, no?”  
  
 _Javert would be content to keep pleasuring the Mayor for eternity, but all too soon the woman cries out, and Javert quickly laps up the extra wetness.  She rises, and briefly presses a kiss to her superior’s hand before departing, the lemon-and-salt taste of her still in her mouth.  Javert finds no desire for a cigarette as she quickly makes her way to her apartments, certain all of Montreuil-sur-Mer can tell how damp her uniform has become._  
  
“Yes, Madame.”  
  
“Would you take dinner with me tonight, then?”  
  
 _A bath and full toilette. Uncomfortable chatter and pregnant silences.  Two hours enduring temptation._  
  
 _The sight of Madame la Maire in an evening gown._  
  
“Yes, Madame.  It would please me greatly.”   
  
  



End file.
